New Orleans: Jazz Fest 2007

Jazz Fest: A six-day music festival (split between two weekends) with everyone from Harry Connick Jr., Counting Crows, John Mayor, to Galactic, Norah Jones, and Van Morrison.

But don't get me wrong. The festival is not only about music. It's about shopping, with booths like the African-heritage Congo Square or the Louisiana Marketplace with local folk art (where I bought a cowboy hat to shade my face from the strong Southern sun!). And, it's also really about food: pulled pork po-boys, alligator pie, muffuletta, crawfish, fried chicken, and the most refreshing mango sorbet ever.

So, really, Jazz Fest is about New Orleans culture. The cajun-influenced flavors, the foot-stomping blues, the Louisiana sun beating down, and of course, cute little festival babies like the one above.

Unfortunately, we pulled into New Orleans too late on Friday to see the likes of George Benson or ZZ Top, but it was actually for the better. Friday was drenched in a serious rainstorm that had festival-goers up their ankles in water. Shelter couldn't even be sought out under the blues tent or the gospel tent, the water was just as high.


Saturday turned out to be one big mud-fest. Those who had taken a rain-check on Friday, made their way to the festival on Saturday making it one of the most crowded festival days in history. But, the more the merrier, right? The fields were so muddy, some people wore their galoshes, while others just traipsed through the mess.

Around two, we went to check out Buckwheat Zydeco. Then onto New Orleans-natives Cowboy Mouth which drew a crowd so large there was no moving forward, even from way back. I saw Cowboy Mouth in New York City only months before--the show was great but nothing like seeing them in their hometown. On our way to Galactic, we got sucked into the Stephen Marley with Junior Gong show. We danced as Stephen Marley sang his father's Iron, Lion, Zion and I am almost positive it was what being at a Bob Marley show is like. And, although I tried to convince a group of eight guys to go watch John Mayer, I didn't win that battle and we sat on the lawn to catch the end of the Allman Brothers' Melissa.

For a mere price of around $35 a day, Jazz Fest is definitely worth a trip to New Orleans. Not only does it support the local economy, it brings in some legendary musicians. Not to mention, some damn good home cookin'.

Bidding adieu.

Today is my last day in New York City. Tomorrow we are packing up and shipping out. I have to say, for a last day, New York has done a great job of making it one of those typical annoying mornings when the grime and the grease start to make you snap at tourists who stand too long on street corners.

Of course, on the last day that I will ever need to ride the subway, my month-long subway pass expires. Okay, I'm not complaining--so I timed it almost perfectly, but when I head to the subway card-dispensing machine (because the people station attendants no longer sell tickets--not really sure what they do. They certainly don't give friendly directions.), it is not taking credit cards or debit cards. As is the story of Brooklyn!

No problem. I'll just head back out into the pouring rain that is soaking through my leather boots, juggle my $6 breakfast smoothie with my umbrella that will probably turn inside-out at any minute, and hit up the Bank of America ATM.

Convenience. The only saving grace for this moldy, abused city. Thanks to convenience, there is a Bank of America right down the street. I would have just gone to any of the seven ATMs I pass on my way to B of A, but the idea of a $3.50 charge is making me think I might as well just take a cab to work.

After getting money out, I realize that most likely the subway card-dispensing machines don't give change and I don't feel like taking a chance that it does, only to climb the stairs up to the street yet again. And since ATMs only spit out in increments of twenty, I am forced to slip into a drugstore for change. Buy a pack of gum, get my ten, my five, my ones and merrily (albeit twenty minutes late) descend down the stairs into the rumbling, damp (and now, flooding) subway station.

Life is hard in this city. And this morning was just one example of the common obstacles that make a simple task (i.e. a commute to work) become a silly goose chase. I will miss the depth of the people here--they carry a self-assuredness that I have yet to see in other places, a real strength. Pride in their interests--interests that are not manufactured by the mainstream--and a love for challenge. And although I admire how people here thrive on challenge (because I too will up the ante most days), the challenges here just don't seem worth it to me: cramming in to 400 sq. feet of space and trying to live a sane life. Only being able to afford those 400 sq. ft. because the cost of living here makes every day a battle. A battle...for what?

And so I leave, with much respect for those who choose to revel in the remarkable culture, energy, and rhythm this city has, but with no regrets. The quality of life has become too deprived.

[Image 1 thanks to efeb according to this license.]
[Image 2 thanks to Ian Troxell--my partner in adventure and crime.]
[Image 3 thanks to B.G. Johnson according to this license.]

Life's A...Beach!

Whenever the weather gets warm and my freckles start showing again, I can't help but dream of laying on the beach, sliding my feet around in warm sand, smelling my coconut-scented Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion, and thinking of absolutely nothing. Except how badly I want to grab my surfboard and paddle out.

It's been tough living in Brooklyn, battling my way to the beach on the trains only to discover unsatisfying surf. Not to mention the $6 fee it takes just to get onto the beach in Long Beach--the closest and nicest of train-accessible beaches. Yes, $6 just to cross over from the boardwalk onto the sand.

This was a shock to me the first time I spent a day in this Long Island beach town. With one surf shop (decent enough) and local-magnet, burrito shack Aye Caramba (which also serves Caribbean fare), the image of what beach town meant to me (Santa Barbara and San Diego) floated farther and farther away. Even the scent of salty sea was nowhere to be found.

To me, Hawaii does it right. By law, all beaches must be open to the public. Yes, even the beaches in front of those mega-resorts like the Four Seasons Resort at Hualalai in Kona or the Princeville Resort in Kauai must let people onto the beach who are not staying at the hotel.
How to gain this said public access? When you drive up to the kiosk to enter the parking lot, just ask for a beach pass.

My favorite beaches in the world (okay, so I haven't been to Fiji, New Zealand, or most of the world yet), are in Hawaii. Sadly, the turquoise waters of Kua Bay in Kona, are no longer only accessible by an adventurous walk across a mile of black, sharp lava field. I know this doesn't sound enjoyable, but now that a paved road leads tourists right up to Kua Bay's white sands, the cove no longer feels like its your own when you arrive.

Lanikai, on Oahu, is my second favorite. The first time I arrived was by kayak. Gorgeous mansions line the shore, the Chinaman's Hat island looks so close, like you could doggy paddle your way right over to it. Brilliant coral in fuschia and blue creates an underwater civilization while sea turtles glide through less dense parts.

And unlike the beach that lines Malibu Colony's shore, anyone can settle into the sand, soft as velvet, with a book and a towel and enough drinking water to last all day long...

(Now fill me in. What's your favorite beach? Don't worry, we won't tell.)

[Image 1 thanks to Laura A according to this license.]
[Image 2 thanks to sarahkim according to this license.]
[Image 3 thanks to ssylvis according to this license.]

New York to Santa Fe, The Ultimate Road Trip

One of my absolute favorite things to do is road trip. But not only the driving part, you see. I find incredible joy in plotting out every stop--finding the best places to pull off the road whether to eat, to rest, or just to contemplate my navel (as my massage-therapist aunt would say). You could say itineraries are my specialty.


I've taken on many a road in California, heading northeast to snowy mountain-town Mammoth, south to San Diego as it bathes in warmth, straight east through hours of barren desert to Vegas (with my fingers crossed that I'd hit the jackpot once I arrived!). But in all my travels on four wheels, I've only done one road trip that involved an overnight stop to my final destination. And yes, it was the inevitable Route 1 California coastal drive from Los Angeles to just north of San Francisco--Mill Valley, a historic, affluent town enshrouded in giant redwoods. Not to say it wasn't incredibly scenic and adventurous, it's just overplayed.

At the end of this month, my boyfriend Ian and I are taking on the Mother Trip--a 5-day road race from New York through the South and back up to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Aside from being well-traveled on the East and West Coasts, I've never ventured in to the middle of this country be it South, Middle, or North. So, we've been sure to include stops in New Orleans (just so happens to be during Jazz Fest!) and Austin, TX for some big, beefy BBQ.


Our start point? Ian's parent's barn-turned-house in tiny, farm town Oxford, New York. After a few days of decompression from New York City we'll be heading south to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee. After camping amidst forest and waterfalls, we'll mosey on down to New Orleans for two nights in the French Quarter. And over to Austin, to Guadalupe Mountains National Park for another camping jaunt, and then up to adobe-laden Santa Fe, New Mexico where we'll be making our new home for the next six months (thanks to a new job at Outside Magazine!).

I've figured out where we will lay our heads for those five nights. Anyone have any suggestions of where we can snack along the way? I'm all ears.

[Image 1 thanks to Daniel Muriello according to this license.]
[Image 2 thanks to Ian Troxell, once again.]

Run On, Runyon

Escape the confines of your car and head up to Los Angeles' Runyon Canyon for a little mid-city hiking right smack dab in the middle of the Hollywood Hills. With three trails--easy, medium and hard--dotted with some of the best vista points in Los Angeles (yes, better than the lookout by Outpost Drive), you can work up a sweat and snag nearly 360-degree views that include the Hollywood Sign, the high-rises of Downtown L.A. and Century City, and, if it's a clear day, all the way out to the ocean. Because there is not much shade on the majority of the mountain, sun-protective gear is definitely recommended (as is a large, but manageable bottle of water). The best part? Dogs allowed (and off the leash)!



The recreational park is accessible from both the top and bottom of the mountain; a dirt parking lot (free!) hugs Mulholland Drive at the peak and street parking is available in the neighborhood down below (North Fuller Ave. and Franklin Ave., Hollywood). So it's your choice if you want to make your way down first or use the downhill as a much-earned relief after your hefty hike.

From the bottom, enter the gate and head up to where the trail forks. Go straight for trail with the medium level of hardness or steer left to access the hard and easy trails. The medium trail will make a u-turn past an old tennis court and then wind up onto a dirt path with well-worn, wood-beamed stairs. You'll have reached the top of the medium trail when you come to an old wood bench with a seat that's at least four feet off the ground. If you continue, the trail meets back up with the easy trail.

For the easiest route, just keep plodding up the old, paved fire road burrowed between two hillsides. A little more than 3/4 of the way up, you'll meet up with the medium trail--a wide dirt path lined with shrubs that juts out to your right. For a little view indulgence, without any uphill hiking to get to it, make a right on the medium trail and walk out to the plateau's end. From here you can see the white, block letters of the Hollywood Sign to your left. Look a little more central to find the bulbous domes of the newly remodeled Griffith Observatory atop a distant hill. Almost directly in front of you stands Downtown Los Angeles, and then the sprawling grid of Hollywood, West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and pretty much every other city on the Westside (the "Westside" refers to anything oceanside of the hills that separate the San Fernando Valley, or "the valley," from what Angelenos call "the city").


If you're jonesing for an extra-good workout, because believe me, even the "easy" trail is nothing to feel lazy about, head up the dirt path that forks left up the hillside from the base of the easy trail for the ever-daunting, hard trail. Although it looks like it might be headed off in some random, wayward direction, it's not. Once over the small hump you'll see large homes nestled into the lush crevice of the hills. Keep an eye out for a turquoise pool that drops off into a waterfall, surrounded by teak-like wood and stout palm trees to your left and you'll get a peak into what Hollywood Hills living is all about.

Although there are several trails that drift off in the beginning of the hard trail, the one you want to be on should be obvious. Many of the smaller trails wander off only to return to the main trail anyway, so don't be worried about getting lost. Scramble up the the steep inclines, try not to slip on loose, dry dirt, and take breaks at each flat--if you don't, you'll miss the most spectacular views out there.

Once you've hit the highest peak of the hard trail, you'll come down, pass an abandoned mansion with a stuffed-animal dragon peeking out from behind broken panes of glass. Stay right after the house and follow the wide dirt road. You will see the paved fire road down to your right. You can take that up to the top parking lot or, for one last heart-inducing jaunt, take the high road to the left and head up the wooden stairs. At the top of those, stay right and it will lead you back to the top lot, or top of the easy trail.

A loop can be made out of any two of the three trails or descend the way you came, but plan on at least an hour for any of the three hikes. Unfortunately, there are no bathrooms in the entire park and not many hiding spots behind shrubs--the paths are almost always busy with hikers, not to mention all of Los Angeles is looking up at you from below. For more information check out: www.lamountains.com/parks.

Oh, and don't forget to pet as many slaphappy doggies as possible.